


Heavenly Bodies

by trollzuko



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: A nice ending, Dancing, Guns, M/M, Past Character Death, They dance, abstact one might call it, also the pov doesn’t make a lot of sense, canon-typical innuendo from abe, description is weird tho, it starts as wilford but it’s mostly abe, lots of parenthesis, not super shippy, this is set during and just after wmlw, until the end, what im saying is its a wilford motherloving warfstache rewrite, where it’s more explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollzuko/pseuds/trollzuko
Summary: Abe just really needs to stop fucking thinking.
Relationships: Abe | The Detective/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Heavenly Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> i felt like a hypocrite for telling people on tiktok to make more abestache content without doing so myself so this is my humble contribution... might make more idk..... anyway this is the first fic ive written in like 4 whole years and im not sure how i feel about it so lmk what u think baby eyes emoji thank you

Wilford Warfstache does not like being alone.

Being alone gives one time to think, time to consider one’s place in the world - the ever-shifting and nonsensical world that one Wilford Warfstache inhabits.

No-one likes being alone. 

But when Wilford is alone, he often wonders whether he even is someone. He could just as easily be no-one. He wanders from place to place, person to person, name to name, but never knowing why.

Maybe he is no-one. 

It would make sense, after all. The biggest impact he has made on a person’s life in the last decade or so hasn’t been any more meaningful than any other drunken encounter at a club - so when Wilford was cursed with enough time to think, he grew afraid that this would be all he left behind. A fleeting memory in the minds of a few, probably forgotten by the next morning. Sure, if he passed by them again they might feel a strange familiarity - perhaps comforting, perhaps the opposite - upon seeing his face, but nothing more. 

So, when Wilford thought about it, he was no-one.

Of course, when he wasn’t thinking, he was everyone. The life of the party, the guy everyone wanted the chance to be near - he lit up every room he walked into without the slightest effort. So that was how he lived. Night after night, Wilford was neck deep in non-stop parties. Who could blame him? He needed something to distract himself from his thoughts. So he might’ve taken it too far a few times, and so he might’ve driven himself to forget all of the people who ever held any significance in his life, but he would’ve been driven mad either way. He just managed to get to it before the world could do it for him.

Ignorance is bliss, they say, and Wilford lived a life without thought and without care. Of course he was happy. Who wouldn’t be, being almost always intoxicated, worlds away from the problems of their past?

Well, a constant flow of alcohol might work for some to forget all about their death-filled past, but for others it only made them dwell on terrible memories. Others, like Abe.

Abe loved being alone (or so he told himself). He loved it because it gave him time to think (another thing he told himself he loved). When he was alone - which he so often was - he always, without fail, began to think about that night in the manor when, in his wounded, half-dead state, he witnessed the untimely demise of his partner at the hand of one William J. Barnum. The Colonel. And God he hated the guy, however attractive he might be. He had taken everyone Abe loved from him, and he wasn’t about to let it go. He was not going to let this pass without at least putting up a fight (and Abe was hardly the type to squander an opportunity for some quality man-to-man rough-housing).

So after that night, Abe devoted all of his waking hours to finding the Colonel (and most of his unconscious ones too, he wasn’t going to try to deny the amount of times he had dreamed of having the man in his grasp again). No one could tell him he wasn’t dedicated, at the very least. Searching for the Colonel gave him a purpose, a reason to keep going, a reason to _live_. And at some point, he lost track of how long he had been looking. He didn’t know anymore and he didn’t care. All he cared about anymore was the Colonel. Finding him, that is. Of course. Yeah, he wanted the sick bastard behind bars - for life. And he thought that once he found him, that would be exactly what would happen. By God, he was going to enjoy every damn second of the long, hard process.

But the universe never really did work in his (or Wilford’s) favour.

As reward for his arduous search, Abe had indeed found the Colonel. He was under yet another new name, this time: Wilford Warfstache. Of course, he was ecstatic about finding the man he had spent so long chasing - finding out he had changed his name to something so goddamn ridiculous… not so much. Somehow it pained Abe so much more to know that the very man who had murdered his partner refused to take himself seriously in the slightest. Nonetheless, he had found him at last. Even if Wilford didn’t remember him yet - or maybe just didn’t have enough balls to admit it - Abe had (almost) no hesitation in taking him for interrogation in a confusing and convoluted series of illogical events. (Abe was unimaginably unsettled by Wilford being able to read his thoughts, above everything else that made no sense. Now he had to be even more careful of any Freudian slips. Wait, what?)

Wilford, on the other hand, was far from being bothered by the events unfolding between him and Abe. But he had to admit, he was close. After being torn from another blithe, blissful night by the callous detective he couldn’t help but begin to _think_ . How unfortunate. And once he started thinking, he started remembering. He hadn’t done that for a while. He remembered the night at the manor. He remembered what he did. He remembered the guilt, the remorse, the _pain_ from that night which he had tried _so hard_ to escape. Needless to say, he wasn’t having the best night.

But he was too far gone to brood over it. That was always more Abe’s style, anyway.

Besides, something more pressing was itching at his subconscious - the desire to help the scared and confused man before him, who so very clearly needed the support of a big, strong, and very unstable man. Of course, Abe didn’t understand any part of what was going on. How could he? He had been too busy thinking and contemplating and detectiving to focus on the big picture, and he hadn’t even noticed the world falling apart all around him.

Lucky guy.

A few gunshots and increasingly obvious tension of mildly ambiguous nature later (you know the story, I’m sure), Abe was faced with a decision. Bleeding from the hole in his chest - he would’ve said fatally, but really, what did he know at this point - he was finally beginning to understand. He was learning that nothing mattered, and now he had to choose whether to embrace that fact (and Wilford), or reject it. Really, it was an easy choice to make, he knew that. One of the choices was after all much, much more attractive than the other. But still he couldn’t. Yet, Wilford was able to make a single night of fun seem so incredibly endearing… Somewhere deep in his mind he was being told to let go, let go of everything, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He stared at the floor, his hands, his gun, his feet, trying his best to make any sense he could out of a senseless world. He couldn’t do it. He told himself that he didn’t want to let go, that he wouldn’t be happy, not really. He knew that. He knew that Wilford was just running from his past, in constant chase from the demons he created - Abe didn’t want to live like that. He wouldn’t. But by God, he wanted to live. He wanted to feel the things he knew Wilford felt. He wanted to know what life felt like without the pressure, without the dread, without the worry that thinking brought. He wanted feeling without stress - Wilford would give it to him. Shit, he wanted that.

He holstered his gun. Slowly, carefully. He tried to form a coherent thought, any thought at all. He couldn’t. He felt Wilford speaking to him in his head, telling him something without words. It comforted him.

Jesus Christ, none of this made sense. 

He didn’t understand why but tears began to sting in his eyes. He didn’t understand anything. He just wanted peace. 

He looked up at Wilford. 

And in his eyes, he found peace.

He shrugs. And they dance.

The bullet wound in Abe’s chest doesn't matter to either of them anymore, but then, nothing really does now. Abe finally understands what Wilford saw in letting go, in not trying so damn hard to understand anymore. The only person Abe sees is Wilford, and he can’t even bring himself to care about whatever it was that made him so angry only an hour or so prior. The only thing Abe knows is how wonderful Wilford is making him feel right here, right now. Maybe the universe actually did him a favour on this one. Definitely. The two have no idea how long they dance for. It could be minutes, it could be hours, it could be eternity. Hands wander, skin brushes skin, heartbeats quicken. Bodies collide, faces meet, breath hitches. Minds melt away. No-one else exists. They can't even be sure that they themselves exist anymore but they do not care.

It’s all bright lights and music now. Thoughtless, euphoric, together.

It’s like heaven.


End file.
